Two At The Piano
by Laser Lance 720
Summary: While camped out at Grimmauld Place with the rest of the Order, Draco and Hermione find that an old piano may be what's needed to keep them both sane through this war. As well, the piano may prove to be all that was needed for the two of them to finally understand the other.


Written for:

**Triwizard Tournament** (The main character must not have a canon pairing. There may be a maximum of two characters in the entire story. Finally, music must play a large part in the course of the story. Egg: 10,000 words)

**Disney Character Challenge** (Nala: write about a person enduring)

**Random Prompts** (6. If you have to ask, you'll never know. If you know, you need only ask.)

**Same Ol' People, Same Ol' Music** (Framing Hedley: No Saving Me, Draco Malfoy),

**Variety of Prompts** (Word. Quidditch)

**Prompt Mania Challenge** (Chose two prompts from each group, eight in total:  
><em>Song<em>- Chandelier by Sai/Rolling in the Deep by Adele  
><em>Color<em>- Chestnut/Coral  
><em>Dialogue<em>- "Gosh, you are frustrating."/ "Come on, it'll be tons of fun."  
><em>Random<em>- Hair/Stormy)

Edit: I want to come back and thank all of you who have favorited this since it was put up here. It means a lot and I'm glad you guys are enjoying what I have to offer.

-oOo-  
>-oOo-<br>-oOo-

Of all the people who had a reason not to trust Draco Malfoy whenever he first dropped his wand to the Order and offered his services, Hermione Granger found that she was one of the first to accept him onto their side. It was strange how quickly she'd come to accept the boy who had been her biggest tormentor during their schooling, but Hermione found that there was something about Draco that she just understood.

It was strange, but something she couldn't very well deny. He was so like them that she often wondered how she had gone so long without knowing that Malfoy was indeed human. He cried; he bled; he carried around his own set of scars which were so plentiful that his body seemed to be held together by the marks. She'd seen some of the physical scars he sported the first few weeks into his stay at Grimmauld Place. His back was marred with them, as were his arms. He looked so human in that moment, so vulnerable. Hermione was sure that was when she first decided to trust Malfoy, against all odds.

It helped that Draco proved to be a valuable asset to the cause. Not only were his combat skills enough to give Tonks a run for her money (something that had delighted his new found cousin more than any of them understood), but his abilities when it came to potions, more so of the healing kind, was bested by none. His skills in healing were possibly up to hospital level. There wasn't an injury – mild or severe – that he didn't know how to fix back into perfect health. Hermione had questioned him on his knowledge and proficiencies in the field of healing, but he only shrugged every time, answering that he'd read it all in a book. The sad glint to his eyes made it clear that there was more to the story than that. The deep sets of scars that ran his arms and torso gave her a pretty good idea as to what he wasn't sharing. She had stopped asking after that, knowing she didn't want the answer.

Despite his assistance, and his clear dedication to their cause, Draco kept to himself if he could help it. He was withdrawn from the group, only ever adding an input if asked. During an operation he'd fight like mad, and then retreat somewhere in the house, not speaking to anyone. It was strange behavior, and Hermione would have been suspicious of it, had she not learned pretty quickly where it was the Slytherin was disappearing off to.

She herself had found the room years ago, during her first stay at the house, and of all of the place Hermione enjoyed at Grimmauld Place, the dusty old music room had to be her favorite sanctuary. Located near the back of the residence, and ignored by most of those using the Black house as headquarters, Hermione retreated into the backroom any moment that she could (at least during the moments that Draco was not seeking solace in there as well). There was something comforting in the out of tuned piano that resided in there.

Hours she spent striking away at the keys, hopelessly trying to unleash the pent up frustration that came with war. It was dead end after dead end. At every turn Voldemort's Army seemed to outnumber and outmatch them. They could never seem to catch the upper hand, and the continued failure was grating on Hermione's nerves. She wasn't used to getting caught in the snag of things, especially not important things were the lives of everyone she cared about were put into danger.

It was all too much, and Hermione just needed the release. The piano gave her that comfort each time she sat by it, running her fingers over the keys as if it were a new born child. It was the one place safe in the house where she didn't have to be Hermione Granger, the woman fighting a war. The one room where she didn't have to make battle plans or listen to Ron and Harry debate the Quidditch season that neither had been able to keep up with. It was the one spot where she could just let go and be free. The one place were nothing mattered other than her and whatever melody she chose to play at the moment.

She remembered how much she used to love the piano as a child. Her mother had gotten her lessons, and Hermione had exceled at it, as she did all things. Over the years though, her love for the instrument had taken a backseat to her extraneous learning schedule. Standing in front of the piano again, its keys giving off such melodic tones with each one she pressed, Hermione was once more reminded of just how much she truly enjoyed the music.

The house was noisy around her, the bustling of the other Order members heard easy through the rickety walls and creaking floorboards. Seated at the piano bench, Hermione found the outside noise quickly falling out of focus as she set the tone into play. Grimmauld Place was forgotten. The war was forgotten. In that moment she was not Hermione Granger, girl with the plans, but a child back at the piano face, thumbing out a melody that had been under her fingers for years.

-oOo-

No one in the Order ever noticed the sound of the piano being played as it was always so subtle and faint under the bustle and noise that came with the home-base. Well, no one except Draco. No matter where he was in the house, no matter what he was doing, he almost always could make out the familiar tinging of piano keys. One of these days, he needed to thank Granger for leading him into that room. If he hadn't heard the delicate call of the piano, he might never had ventured into that back room.

He had asked about the music room, but no one seemed to have the time to pay any mind to the instruments, leaving them alone to decay with an unnatural beauty. Draco didn't pass up the chance to play with the piano, choosing to spend his free time in that room instead of with the others.

Joining the Order had been easy enough. Much too easy in Draco's opinion. Whenever he had showed up, wand thrown at their feet and surrender being declared, he half expected them to take him as a fake and finish him off there. It was the least he deserved. It was what he half expected them to do. Instead, they opened their door to him. Shared their lives with him. They trusted him in spite of all he had done, all his family had done.

Despite their trust though, Draco wasn't sure how much he trusted some of them. It wasn't for lack of trying on the matter, it was just after so many years, so many knifes plowed deep into his shoulder blades, that Draco found it near impossible to place his trust into people he hardly knew (or even people he thought he knew fairly well). Especially people who months prior would have put him into a grave without second thought had they met in the wrong alley way at night.

Draco just didn't understand these people. So sure, he fought alongside them. He helped save them, and they returned the favor. But he didn't feel comfortable with anything other than mutual soldiers in a war he was too damn young to be fighting in. That was all he was really comfortable with. It was all he really knew how to do.

He'd never been very good with people after all; despite what the world may believe. The friends he had, or did have, were put with him at birth. He'd grown up alongside most of them through childhood, placing them more as family than friends. But even with them, he'd never been really good with expressing himself and what he truly felt. In any case, not like the way normal people could communicate with one another. Draco just never was able to open up and put his deepest thoughts out into the world, largely due to the fear of dismissal if he had. His whole life he'd been walking a thin line of, 'will this get me disowned', and 'what will father say when he finds out'.

Now, free from the control of his father, Draco still was unable to really connect to anyone in the Order in the way that they all had connected to each other. They were a family, that much was clear, and no matter how much some of them tried, he just wasn't a part of that. Be it too much bad blood between them, or Draco's own insecurities on the matter, but he just didn't seem to fit into the puzzle like everyone else did.

And that was fine with him. He didn't need to fit in and become one big happy family with them. After all, he doubted he'd live through this adventure long enough for it to matter in the end. All he was concerned with was doing his part to help end this war. Doing all he could to atone for the list of sins he'd committed.

And all of this, Draco brought forth as he sat down in front of the piano. He used to hate the instrument before him. His mother had made him take lessons as a child, stating that it was the proper instrument for a gentleman, and a sign of having class. Draco hadn't cared the reasons at the time, he'd hated the lessons, the teacher, and the instrument in general. Of the long list of things Draco had been forced into doing over the years because of 'responsibilities' and 'expectations, and 'birth rights', the piano was near the top of that list; right under 'Club Umbridge' and 'Team Death Eater'.

All these years later, he was thankful his parents had pushed the lesson so hard. He'd become so reliant on the instrument over the last few years. He had played the one in the Room of Requirements near breaking point during his sixth year, and it was clear that the one resting in Grimmauld Place would too be under his touch quite frequently.

It seemed that whenever Granger wasn't in that back room he was. The two often passed each other in the halls as they took their turns beating out their emotions through the keys. A nod was always shared as if they understood the other, and respected their mutual, but never discussed, love for the out of tuned piano.

Tapping the keys with a delicacy that no one thought was possible for a Malfoy, Draco pushed aside the thoughts of his parents, Granger and everyone else in the headquarters as he began to play. The tempo was fast paced today, his right hand taking advantage of the sharpened black keys as his left kept a constant steady undertone going. The piano gave into his touch willingly, music dancing into the air of a room that looked like it had once been filled with melodies and carols. Now the room just hosted sad ballads performed by child of war.

-oOo-

The sound of the piano was unmistakable to Hermione's ears. Even down in the living room she could make out the faint wisp of music. Judging from the way no one else reacted to the sound, they either didn't hear it, or paid no mind as it had become unspoken knowledge as to where Draco and Hermione's separate disappearances took them. Still, she heard the music and couldn't just ignore it.

Putting down the book she'd been pretending to read, Hermione stood from the loveseat and made her way towards the back room. She'd watched him play before. It was always an interesting sight watching her formal rival play the piano with so much heart and more emotions than she'd ever thought him capable of. She didn't speak to him when she watched, and neither of them ever spoke about it afterwards, but he never told her to go away either.

The walk to the piano room was short, and before she even knew why she was standing there, Hermione stopped in the doorway, looking into the room. The piano faced away as did Draco. His back was towards her so he most likely didn't know she was even there. He continued playing, moving back and forth even so slightly as he did.

It was sad, the way his fingers brushed over the keys to produce such melodic music. Despite the fact that the piano strings were close to tearing, and the keys no longer gave into their original fluid movements as they once had, Draco worked that thing like it were fresh from the shop. The emotions that danced between the cords were intense, and Hermione once again wondered just what it was that the Slytherin had gone through because of this war. His soul seemed out in the open, his heart dropping inch by inch on the tattered sleeve of the green sweater he sported.

The melody he played deserved to be listen to by a larger audience than just her. It was deserving of an auditorium full of people who would understand the strikes of the keys, not a back room where everyone was too focused on surviving the war to hear the desperate pleas that were being spoken in the only way Draco seemed able to express them. It tore at Hermione to listen to him play, as the elegant language spoke to her as well.

She wished to join him at the piano, to play her worries and anxiety away, if only to find the release that just wasn't always granted to her. She couldn't though. Not because she didn't wish to, but due to the fact that she highly doubted Draco would welcome her onto the bench. They had an unspoken agreement concerning that piano, and taking the second half of the bench may over step a line.

He had yet to notice her standing in the doorway, as he was so focused in playing out whatever melody was on his fingers. Giving one last look at the back of a boy who'd been beaten and broken by this war, Hermione stepped from the room, closing the door behind her.

As it clicked shut behind her, the music fell from the air. Despite being unable to see into the room at the moment, Hermione was sure Draco was looking at where she had just been standing.

-oOo-

While the music room may be Draco's favorite hiding spot, the tapestry room had to have been his least. This in mind, he found himself in that room almost as much as he found himself sitting in front of the piano. Despite his hatred of the entire room, it was the only place he could reflect on his mother and her lose. The picture of her sown into the tapestry was always so youthful and elegant, a great contrast to the aged and war-torn matriarch she had been upon death.

Draco still remembered that day with sickening clarity. It had been his fault after all. One too many failures, and a too clear reluctance to follow the path his father had set for him, and Narcissa Malfoy had been the one to pay the price at the end of Voldemort's wand. The death of his mother had been the straw needed to break Draco's back. The growing unwillingness towards being a Death Eater, and the quickly faltering faith in his father had all snapped into place when he watched the man he'd been taught since birth he was meant to follow, take away one of the only things in Draco's life that had ever truly mattered.

His whole reason for being a Death Eater had been to keep her safe. Everything he'd done, every sin he'd allowed to be added under his name in God's Holy book had all been for the knowledge that it would keep her safe and alive for just one more day. Of course the days had always been numbered, but Draco had been arrogant enough to think he could keep his mother's hourglass running forever. There had been no saving her in the end, just as Draco knew there was no saving him. Not after everything he'd done.

A tear pricked in the corner of his eye, causing Draco to withdraw his gaze from his mother's image, only to land on another. He didn't know half the names or faces that graced this room. Most had died off long before him, but even the youngest generation there, the one he should have known, were all but strangers to him.

His mother had often told him about the Black family tree tapestry, but prior to joining the Order, he had never seen it. It had been gorgeous for the first few moments of looking at it. Appearing to be immensely old, something having chewed away at several spots, and faded in even more, Draco had smiled for the first time in what seemed like years whenever he had seen it. To a boy who barely knew his family, something like this, which tracked back his linage on his mother's side for centuries, he had been elated to finally lay eyes on it.

That was until he understood the gravity of it. So many names he had never known. So many relatives who had been lost to him for various reasons before his birth. What cut the deepest was all the black patches, images singed off years ago by an angry wand. His mother had told him about Walburga Black's rampage about twenty years ago where she had violently removed a large section of the family due to what was perceived to be one act worthy of disownment after the next.

Draco caught sight of his own name on the wall, wondering if Walburga would have seared his image away had she still be alive. Judging from the way she yelled at him from her portrait, making her views clear on the (as she put it) 'blood-traitor who had tainted the last of the Black's good blood', Draco had a sinking suspicion that his own tiny image would have been abruptly removed should the woman ever escape from the portrait, as she so often liked the threaten to do.

Following the golden tree branch that connected to his name, Draco once more found his gaze settling on the face of his mother. Unable to look at it any longer than he had, he shot his gaze upwards. This proved to be a huge mistake as instead of his mother's peaceful looking image, he was now greeted with the sneering face of Bellatrix Lestrange. The sight of her image caused Draco to inhale sharply as his last memory of his aunt had not been a pleasant one. Truth be told, no memory of the woman was a pleasant one.

A throbbing built into his arm the longer he looked at the sneering picture. Glancing down, he pulled back the fabric of his sweater, exposing the flesh of his left forearm. His pale skin was marred with angry reddish burns and jagged pink scars. The one that stuck out most would have been the coral red one that ran through the dark tattoo on his arm.

If there was anything Draco had learned about his aunt, it was that she had a flair for dramatics and cutting a line straight through his Dark Mark was the most drastic way he could imagine for her to represent his fall from rank. The angry and still red scar ran from the top of the ink skull, through the open mouth and leaving the snake head near the bottom a mess of healing flesh. The mark of pure evil was broken down the middle by the scar meant to represent his betrayal. Of course, Bella hadn't stopped there in her torture. The word 'traitor' forever etched into his skin just to the right of the Dark Mark still throbbed even months after it had been put into place.

For the first few days after that incident; at which point he had been thrown into the dungeons under Malfoy Manor to await a formal execution, Draco had been too disgusted to even look at the sorry state that his arm (and rest of his body) had been in. Months later, it no longer bothered him to see the scars. Now the very sight of it reminded him of the mission he'd set himself upon weeks before that night had even taken place. It reminded him of his mother, who had died protecting him. Of Snape, who had put his own life on the line to sneak him from that dungeon and save him from what would be been a most painful death. It reminded him of everything he had grown up believing, but now resented and despised with every fiber of his being. It was a symbol of his finally coming to terms with what the world really was. A representation of how far he had come from that self-centered and arrogant brat of Hogwarts.

But above it all, it was just another set of scars. His body had enough lines cut into it, that a few more shouldn't even bother him. After all, the ones on his arms were nothing compared to the set of angry white lines that stretched from the tip of his ear, across his cheek and chin, before slicing through the flesh of his neck. He'd been lucky that cutting hex hadn't sliced his throat open that day. The three shorter lines along his forehead were parallel to those, and came from the same event.

And even that set, was slight compared to the ones that marred his upper body. His back was a clear display of the primitive and brutal methods of torture the Death Eaters subjugated their victims to. His chest was just as worst, the angry lines still present from where Potter had _accidently_ almost killed him sixth year.

He was a walking mess of scars – be they physical, emotional, and most likely mental – but he would let none of them slow him down. He had survived every new scar, and moaning about them wasn't going to get him anywhere. With this point in his mind, Draco found the throbbing in his arm growing fainter and fainter. He should have been thankful it was just a mild throbbing coming from that part of his body. Ever since his betrayal of the Death Eaters, and his Aunt's defiling of the Dark Mark, Draco had been pleased to learn that the section of skin no longer burned like it once had.

Resolving to forget about the mess of scars that was his body and the history behind them, Draco found himself staring once more at the tapestry on the wall. His eyes were glued onto his mother's image. It seemed that no matter how many times he looked away, how much he fought to not glance at the smiling face he would never see again, Draco's eyes always fell onto the blonde woman he resembled oh so much.

A hand pressed firmly against the wall, he allowed a deep sigh to escape between his lips. The action seemed to bring some life into the room that always smelled so stale and lifeless. His eyes were a stormy grey as he watched the image of his mother on the wall, unsure what he was waiting for. Removing his hand, and thrusting them in his pockets, he turned from the wall. He made his way towards the open door, but not before hearing the most distant sound of piano music hinting the air.

-oOo-

The days blended into one another so much that Hermione didn't know if it was only twenty four hours or two weeks after her parents' deaths. The news had struck her hard. She'd been so sure they were safe, but as fate would have it, they hadn't been. The attack in Australia which killed them hadn't even been targeted towards the innocent couple. It had been just unfortunate luck that the Death Eaters recognized them for whatever reason that they did. She hadn't believed it of course until their bodies had turned up in Knockturn Ally. The atmosphere had been heavy whenever the news struck. It hadn't helped that they had learned just prior to that that Tonks' father had been murdered as well.

They had all tried to help, but no matter how many condolences and embraces she was given, Hermione found that she just couldn't coup in front of them all. She was thankful for their concern for her, but this wasn't something that they could fix.

No, Hermione Granger needed that piano during this time of sorrow. She had been plowing away at that instrument so much, she was surprised the strings hadn't finally snapped due to her abuse. The others didn't bother her while she was in here, as they had all learned that she would only brush them away. She was alone with the piano, and that was how she needed it to be. She loved everyone there but she couldn't handle any of their presences at the moment.

She'd been well aware of the dangers of war for years now. She'd known the risk whenever she joined Harry on this path. Understood that before this was over, she - as well as everyone she cared about - could die. But every time it happened it still hurt. She wasn't Hermione Granger in those moments, but a scared girl who didn't want to say goodbye to the people she loved. All of this had of course hit with her parents deaths, and had been a downhill spiral since then.

-oOo-

The sound of the piano which graced the air for the next few days was sober and restrained. That had been Draco's first clue as to how hard the news had hit her. He knew of the deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Granger; just as he knew that they were what she was playing for now.

There was a passion in her music that spoke to Draco on a level that he didn't fully comprehend. But he knew they he might have been the only one in that house with the ability to understand and decipher what Granger was saying through the piano. Silent in the doorframe, Draco watched the Gryffindor playing, finding his respect and admiration for her growing with each cord she pressed.

She played with such vigor as if she were attempting to shatter the keys under her touch. While his melodies were normally quick tempered, heated with complex cords and riddled with a bass line so heavy that it could drag one deep under the waves, Hermione played in a much higher octave, and so much lighter – despite the vicious way she attacked the keys. Her notes held out into the air long after the cord had been struck, a high thrown call that reminded him so much of a lonely bird in the hours of night. Her transitions were slow, and melted into one another like two lovers wrapped as one under the covers. She played the piano like it were her heart, and the strings the veins which kept her alive.

A chocked sob escaped from between the notes being played. A moment later a second muffled cry littered into the air. The pianist grew ridged.

Draco only stood there as the piano grew silent and Granger grew louder in her cries. He wanted to go comfort her. He knew what she was going through with her parent's loss. He could help. He understood what she'd been screaming into the world through that piano.

He didn't enter the room though. Despite the fact that he should assist, he didn't know how. He'd never been very good with expressing how he felt vocally, and he'd never been too good at comforting others. He spoke through music; a melody that no one ever had any hopes of understanding, just as she did.

As he left his place in the hall, Hermione's stifled sobs slowly coming under control. The piano began to admit music ever so slowly. Draco took it upon himself in that moment, to one day sit on that bench with her and play at tune so sad that it could only make it all right again.

-oOo-

It seemed that the moment Hermione began to recover from the death of her parents, another one was given to the world. This time however, most of the world had been pleased whenever they learned that this particular man was gone. The death of Lucius Malfoy was taken with much celebration by those who despised him. In the all the celebration though, there were three boys who were still in a daze, and after learning how the evening had gone down, Hermione understood their state of bewilderment.

She had listened in whenever the boys had been debriefed from their previous mission together. From the way she understood it, the whole thing had been a mess. The three boys (who after putting aside their petty disputes proved to make one Hell of a team) had stumbled into a scuffle which turned out to be more than they could handle. Three Death Eaters had been killed that day, but not before things had taken a sour turn between the Malfoy patriarch and his son. It seemed the patriarch of the family was still none too pleased with his son and his choices in this war. The fact that Draco had pulled The Chosen One out of the way from a nasty curse sent by the older man, only seemed to fuel his rage.

During the debriefing, Draco had near silent to the questions, allowing the other two boys to fill in what had taken place. He seemed too shaken up at the moment to offer much. And whenever they had explained what lead to Lucius' death, Hermione completely understood.

It seemed that the patriarch had finally had enough of his son, and in the split moment Draco's back had been turned, he had sent the nastiest set of curses known to man upon the younger Malfoy. In the mix had been well placed Cruciatus, which had nearly taken down Draco due to the blood lose he was already trying to cope with. Hermione had a sinking feeling they would have lost him, had the other two boys not stepped in when they did. No one was quite sure rather it was Harry or Ron's Killing Curse which had struck the older man first. But at the end of the day, Lucius Malfoy was dead, the Death Eaters present having fled moments afterwards, and they had managed to patch Draco back up and get him onto his feet.

It had been hectic, and Hermione flat out refused to allow the three of them to leave on their own again. Of course, in her moment of motherly concern over the boys, Draco had slipped from the room.

This was what led her to where she was now, stomping towards where she knew Draco had run off to so that she could chew his ear off about his disappearance. He was still barely recovered after all, the last thing he needed to do was run off where no one could see him, just in case a wound were to open back up and he bleed to death without their knowledge. She knew she was overreaching, but she had become attached to the now orphaned Malfoy over the last few months, and as such he had fallen under her mother bear radar, rather he like it or not. And as such –

Her train of thought and well-rehearsed scolding fell silent from her mind as she listened to the cords of the piano from just down the hall. It rang through the air like the bells of Notre Dame to a somber city. The broken keys of the piano left a sickening reminder of a heart tearing apart.

Stopped in the doorway of the room, Hermione found Draco standing at the piano, the bench having been kicked away onto its side. He was frantic in his melody, his notes shattered all over the piano keys, hitting every octave but melding together in a perfect unison that gave Hermione a clear idea as to the emotions that were running through Draco at that moment. His shoulders were stiff as he moved, striking the lower range of notes with an intensity that offered to spilt the instrument in two. The bend in his knee and the way he leaned slightly to the left had nothing to do with the way he was playing, but more so the injuries he was trying to ignore. His hair was filthy, as was the rest of his body but he either didn't notice or care the state he was in.

The cords raced into the air before sinking into the wood of the floor where they all but shock the ground. Draco played with such heavy hands that it seemed amazing he could lift them at all. Just as Hermione was to step into the room, he changed his melody. It shifted so drastically from the deep dark bass line, up two octaves into a pitch range she had yet to hear Draco play in. He hit the keys at the far end, moving with such speed and grace, a great contrast to the method had been using just prior.

It seemed an entirely different piece, a different man playing it. But it was the same. The same man, the same song. Despite the sudden increase in tempo and tone, Hermione recognized the melody as the same one he had been just playing. It was freer though, as if something had snapped inside of him to create such a contrast. His shoulders rose and fell at every other beat, his unbrushed hair moving wildly about his face as he glanced between the keys he so expertly worked over.

Hermione only stood there, watching him just as she had the first time she saw him play. He seemed so different than how she remembered him being during their childhood. To be fair to him, he'd grown up so much over the years. So much so that she hasn't even really noticed until now.

Playing before her, with such release and skill, as a boy, no a man, who had been shoved far too quickly into a world of darkness and left to rot in it. A man who had overcome the evil he'd grown up in; who had set his own path; had found a saving light in a storm of hatred. A man who hit every key on the piano with such grace that God must have hand placed that talent into him for all she really knew. A man who'd lost so much, who had been beaten down by the world time after time, but kept fighting despite the fact that no one thought he would even have made it this far.

Watching him play, Hermione smiled sadly. She turned from the doorway, figuring that she'd leave him to the piano for a little bit. That plan was gone though as soon as the crash sounded behind her. Turning back sharply, she didn't even realize the music had stopped playing into the air. All she cared about was the fact that Draco lay there on the floor, groaning sharply as he tried and failed to sit back up.

Without a thought on the matter, Hermione rushed into the room, dropping down at his side. Sensing her presence, but saying nothing on the matter, Draco reached out a hand for support. She took it, positioning in on her shoulder. His fingers became lost in the mess of chestnut hair that fell around her shoulders and down her back.

Helping him stand, Hermione found it disturbing how light he was as he leaned against her. Draco had always been compact, but this was pushing it. He muttered a thanks as she positioned herself to better support him; her arm around his waist, and his draped on her shoulders. Hermione only nodded as she slowly lead him from the music room and down to the make shirt infirmary.

-oOo-

Weeks had passed since Draco's collapse and he was doing much better. The soreness was still present, but as Tonks had pointed out, after so much damage to his body over the years, he could expect some mild pain every now and again. He didn't complain.

What he did complain about was the fact that no one would leave him alone during those few weeks. It seemed that every time he turned around, there was someone there next to him, making sure he wasn't going to collapse again. It annoyed the Hell out Draco, who wasn't used to this much coddling.

In between the rants to be left along though, Draco had to admit that he kind of liked the concern they all felt towards him. Over the time he'd spent with the Order, he'd managed to actually break through the walls he'd so expertly built around him, and actually become part of their little family. He hadn't realized how much he'd come to care for the others, and in turn, how much they cared for him, until Mrs. Weasley had very clear in his welcoming to the Burrow whenever he wanted to swing by, as well as her very adamant request that he join the family for Saturday brunch; every Saturday after this war was over.

As much as he appreciate their concern and care (not that he would ever come out and say it), but Draco really had gotten tired of the constant attention. He needed the break from it all, and thankfully the piano room was the only place in the house where he wouldn't have to explain to Mrs. Weasley that he was indeed fine and wasn't going to bleed to death should he lift something or walk a distance larger than from one couch to another.

He hadn't entered the room since his collapse, and had been a bit pleased to see that Hermione had righted the bench he'd left toppled over. Taking a seat on it, he found the keys gave off the same melodic tones as they always had. Sinking deeply into the music, Draco allowed his mind to wander onto the coming future.

They had received news that what was expected to be a grand battle to take place in a rough week and a half. At Hogwarts none the less. Draco was confused as to why the school would be the battleground (even more so confused whenever he overheard the Golden Trio muttering about finding something in the school), but didn't question. All that mattered was that Voldemort was bringing his entire army to the school grounds, and they would be there to meet them. Despite that no one mentioned the fact, they all had a feeling that this was the final battle. The one to determine who took the war.

They were almost reluctant to allow Draco to participate in the coming fight. At first, the Slytherin had been annoyed, thinking that after all this time they didn't trust him to fight alongside them. That proved wrong whenever he learned that they did indeed trust him, but weren't sure he was back up to full strength to fight and didn't want to risk him getting himself killed because he wasn't ready. That had pissed off Draco, who – quite rudely – told them that he was perfectly fine, would be at that fight, and damn whoever tried to stop him. He had not come this far to be left on the sidelines like a child. He was part of this fight, and he would be there right alongside the rest of them.

In the end, he'd managed to win the argument, and would be there on Hogwarts ground to defend that school. Draco wasn't sure why he was so glad that he had just won an argument that could lead to his death. The Draco Malfoy of Old would have turned tail and ran the other direction had anyone ever mentioned him having any involvement in a war. Then again, the Draco Malfoy of Old had died the moment the Dark Mark had been forcefully seared into his arm, and then later buried with his mother.

This new Draco Malfoy – one tainted by the influence of Gryffindors, instead of a history of Dark Magic – knew what he was getting into and would not run from the fight. He had ran enough in the past, and would do so no longer. He had a reason to fight, a reason to live.

All this, he translated into the keys of the piano. The time until the battle counted down with each key he pressed. The melodies he sent into the air captured everything he was feeling. But something felt missing as he struck each cord. Glancing down at the piano bench, he sighed when he once more realized that it was more than large enough for two people to sit upon it.

His hands falling away from the keys, he briefly wondered if Hermione wanted to play with him. Merlin knew how much longer they had left to enjoy that piano, and this back and forth nonsense was cutting their time down.

No one knew how much longer any of them had left to live, or if any of them would even survive this battle, and Draco wasn't about to waste what precious time he may have left, sitting alone in that room with just an old piano to chase away his demons. Rising from the bench, he made his way to the door, wondering where the girl was and if she'd even accept his offer to play.

Thankfully, he didn't have to go very far to find his answer.

-oOo-

It was all chaos the days before the battle, as it was for any large fight they would partake in. Hermione had spent all morning helping plan out the tactics, taking into account every inch of the school and any advantages they may have going in, and well as any disadvantages that may hinder them down the line. She'd been there all morning, skipping lunch in order to help plan. After a while she had to accept the fact that she needed to take a break – they kicked her out of the room for some rest – and had decided to make her way towards the music room.

The piano was silent as she headed in that direction, and she wondered where Draco was at. Last time she'd seen him, he'd been off with the boys dueling, but that had been hours ago and there was no way the three of them were still out there. Her thoughts were still on him whenever she entered the hall that would lead to her destination.

To her surprise, there was a figure standing in the doorway of the room. A light grin and blonde hair greeted her as Draco stood there. He motioned towards the piano behind him, not uttering a word, but hoping she understood. Returning her own smile, Hermione stepped passed him, and took her seat on the bench. Draco sat down to her left a moment later.

The two looked at one another, before glancing back at the piano. The instrument had been a source of release and sanity for both of them over the last few months; something only the two of them really did understand. That saying came to mind, that one need only ask if they knew, or stay quiet as they never will. It seemed right that that was what sprang into Hermione's mind at that moment. With all the months they had been using the Black house as a headquarters, not one person had asked about the sad sounds of a piano which played more and more frequently these days. They all knew who was going at the instrument, but none spoke on the matter as none of them really understood the attachment, except for the pair sitting at the piano.

Hermione knew why Draco played. She understood him in a way that no one else had ever. He played because there was nothing else he really could do. Because at the end of the day, despite all the love that surrounded him from people who had all but legally adopted him into their family, he still felt alone. Under all the confidence was a scared and lonely boy who used his cocky attitude as a shield to protect himself. He was just a kid forced to grow up way too early. When he played, all of this came to the forefront, and Hermione understood.

It was the same reasons she played after all. No matter how confident she appeared, how many battles she won, and enemies defeat, inside of her, there was still that lonely and insecure little girl who hide behind a mess of curly hair. A girl who had first thrown herself into school work because there never had been friends to occupy her free time, and even after meeting so many incredible people, just never had been able to snap herself out of the habit to retreat into a book. A girl who spent so many years seeking out the normal which had always evaded her.

And now more than ever, in the midst of war and never knowing when she'd have her last breath, Hermione craved any ounce of normalcy she could get. It was a different normal she was looking for compared to that which she'd searched for as a child. At that time growing up; before Hogwarts that is, it had been a want to not stand out so much. To not be the girl no one really wanted to sit next to in fear that they'd get cut by her front two teeth or lost in the mess of hair. The weirdo who strange things seemed to always happen to.

After learning of Hogwarts though, she never thought she'd want normal again. But normal was school work in a forever noise filled library. It was Saturday's spent with her best friends, figuring out whatever mystery was placed before them at that point in time or just enjoying each other's company in the Commons. Waking up early for class, and staying up late for parties in Gryffindor Tower. Hogsmead trips which always caused more trouble than they were worth. It was friendship, real and true; something she'd never known before that school.

But it was also a vicious academic rivalry with the boy sitting beside her, who for him, normal was calling her names, teasing her at every chance he got, and fearing the moment someone would discover that his perfectly laid foundation was riddled with cracks.

Of all the normal Hermione wished for, she knew she didn't want that last part to return to what it was. Draco had changed so much since their school years, and Hermione didn't want him to change back. She liked this side of him; the side that wasn't afraid to appear mortal and flawed. It was so different than the put together and posh Draco Malfoy of Hogwarts. He was so human now, so considerate and honest. It was like he'd shattered somewhere along the line and came out an entirely different person.

No, Hermione thought in that moment, if normal meant giving up the boy sitting beside her, she didn't want it. As much as she hated this war, detested all the pain it had brought, and completely loathed what it stood for, she knew that one good thing may have come from the Hell hole they had all thrown themselves into. And that one good thing, was a Draco Malfoy who no longer fit perfectly into the mold he had been shaped for. Instead, the world was now graced with a young Malfoy, free of prejudice views; who had no problem sitting at a piano next to the Muggleborn he had once despised like the plague. And that was something she didn't want to lose anytime soon.

Hermione brought her hands forward, placing them carefully over the keys that hadn't been touched by dust since the two had found them. Giving one a test press, she set into a simple but elegant melody that utilized the harmony of the upper keys. Draco watched her, more so her hands, as she set into her pattern.

After several bouts of the progression, Draco fingered the keys before him. He hit away at a round, copying her previous cords with precision. She smiled at him, and he grinned back as their notes littered the air. Taking a chance, Hermione pressed forward, adding some complexity to her notes. Draco caught on quickly, strengthening the lower half with cords that complemented her perfectly. She played a tone frantic from the wait of battle, while his base line plowed away with the dread of possible losses that could come.

After several minutes of intense play, Hermione settled her keys down while Draco took the lead. His notes were beautiful, expressing the anxiety that none of them wanted to discuss. The broken C key sent a foreboding notion into the air each time it was struck. Instead of avoiding that one, Draco took great pleasure in sticking it. Every time he did, he managed to melt the rasping sound into the melody as if it were meant to be there.

He played on, Hermione quickly setting into play on the opposite end. The two played their own melodies, that while both extremely diverse, complement one another in a way that no one outside of that room could understand. After what felt like hours of playing, both of them slowed until they only struck a set of key every few seconds, the cords lingering in the air.

Hermione withdrew her hands from the keys first. Three well placed cords from Draco, played slowly and with ominous care, brought the piece to an end. They both sat there, neither speaking as the final touch of music danced away from the air. From down the hall they could hear the bustle of everyone moving about in preparation.

"Everything's about to change, isn't it?" Draco voice held several layers filled with concern.

"It'll change for the better." Hermione answered. She watched him carefully as he continued to stare forward. He had changed physically as well. His hair was longer than she'd ever seen and feel freely around his face. The bangs brushed over his eyes. The slight curls that came to it around his ears and the nap of his neck made him seem so much younger than he'd ever appeared, as well as so much softer. His face, which had always seemed to be composed of sharp chiseled lines, was soft and thin, marred with unrelenting scars and fading bruises. His eyes were aged; the greys in them too unsettled and uncontrolled to be brought on by anything other than torment and pain.

She knew she looked different as well. She'd lost weight, that outcome caused by occasional malnutrition as well as rigorous combat training for all the fighting she'd done. Her hair wasn't as shiny anymore. Still frizzed at humanly possible, and always the same chestnut brown, it just wasn't as alive and active as it had always been. It reminded her of a bush weed in the desert now that she thought about it. Her eyes also were as aged as Draco's. But where his grey orbs appeared to have seen every level of evil that could walk the world – and he probably had – hers still held the slightest gleam of optimism in their hazel shine.

Letting a sigh escape her lips, she tried not to dwell on their physical state. She smiled ever so slightly, and somewhat forced. "Once this is all over, it'll be nice to just relax for a bit."

"What makes you think we'll survive this?" Draco muttered more to himself than to her.

Hermione sighed in response. "Don't be such a pessimist."

"I'm not being a pessimist, Granger." Draco tilted his head so that he looked at her. His blonde hair fell over his eyes. "I'm being a realist. There's no way all of us will survive this battle."

"Not with that attitude." Hermione playfully nudged him. "Come on, we have a few more days-"

"To live?" Draco smirked. She actually slapped his arm for that comment. He muttered a groan of pain, while rubbing away at the spot she had hit. He glared at her, but the action didn't hold any of the animosity that had once been there.

"I was going to say," Hermione picked back up, rolling her eyes heavily at him, "that we have a few more days until the fight, we might as well not worry too much until then." Silence set over them, Draco fiddling with the keys instead of answering her.

"I do have a question for you." Hermione said after a few more seconds of quiet. "When all this is over – and you will survive so don't even answer otherwise – what do you want to do? With your life that is?"

"What's brought about this curiosity?"

"You've been working with us for months." Hermione stated. "And in that time, we've all gotten to know you. And I must say, that it's kind of been a pleasure doing so. But I'm just kind of curious. Without a war hanging over head, are you planning on going back to being Draco Malfoy, resident arsehole or-"

"Trust me Granger." Draco cut in, smirking widely at her. "That arsehole is hopefully long dead and gone."

"Then answer my question."

"Fine." Draco shrugged. "I don't really know what I want. There isn't really much to go back to, you know." Sadly she knew all too well. "I mean, by some chance that my father never did properly disown me, I'll legally be the head of the household and company. But then again, most of the business is heavily connected with families associated with the Dark Lord," he cringed when he said the name, but had never been able to break himself of referring to him that way, "so if we do win, Malfoy Enterprise is going to go downhill pretty quickly."

"What does that company even do?"

"I don't know." Draco shrugged again. "Whenever I asked they all shut me down. My father said he'd tell me when I was older. Never got the chance to ask after that. I've started to think that it's just a front for illegal activity. Can't imagine it lasting much longer after the war."

"Where does that leave you though? If it all falls through."

"Bankrupt." Draco answered flatly. "Most of the family's money is linked with the company, and last time I checked my father was so indebt that it's ridiculous. I'll probably have to get an actual job. I wonder if St. Mungo's would hire me."

"The hospital?"

"Why not." Draco shrugged; it seemed to be something he did quite often. "I've had enough practice dealing with injuries over the years, it might be something to look into. A few more classes on the subject and I might be set. What about you? You retreating to a library when all this is over."

"No." Hermione chuckled softly at his tease. "I think I want to go back to Hogwarts to finish my education though, if they'll take me back."

"Of course they will. You're probably the brightest student they've ever taught."

"Thanks Draco." She replied. "If you're thinking about St. Mungo's, you might consider heading back to Hogwarts with me. An actual diploma couldn't hurt your chances of getting a job there. Plus, it'll be food and board for a year while you work out the dirty money situation."

Draco chuckled deeply at her. "I think Hogwarts has seen enough of me. I don't know how welcomed I'd be if I went back."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked. "You were at the top of our class as well. Like, second ranked if I remember."

"You remember correctly. But you seem to be forgetting an important fact. I left that school after allowing Death Eaters in. I killed Dumbledore. There's not going to be anyone who would think twice about pushing me out of a tower if I go back." He paused for a moment. "I'd be surprised if your little DA friends don't hex me out of existence the moment they see me."

Hermione was silent for a moment, taking in what he had said. "You didn't kill Dumbledore. Snape did."

"I let them into the school." Draco stated quietly. "I initiated the attack that ended up killing him. I lead Snape right to him. It doesn't matter if it was my wand or not that did it, I still have to take blame as it's my fault it happened. I'd be surprised if they didn't just chuck me into Azkaban the moment this is all over."

"They aren't going to do that." Hermione answered quickly. "For one, you don't belong in Azkaban, Draco. You are fighting to stop this war, not progress it. They have no reason to put you into that prison." Draco only snorted, not stating the disbelief he held towards her words.

"And second, I won't let them." Hermione stated. Draco's eyes lit up for a moment and snapped onto her, before they clouded over with something she couldn't decipher. "None of us will. If we have to fight the Ministry and anyone else, tooth and nail to keep you, then we will. You are part of this team Draco, part of this family, and Hell will freeze over before we let you or anyone else damn you to that prison. Are we clear?"

Draco was quite for a moment, before a smile pulled onto his lips. It was so small and insignificant looking that had it been on anyone else but Draco, it might not have meant anything. But on the former Slytherin, the small smile must have seemed to reach his eyes as he nodded. "Thanks Granger. I mean it."

"Don't mention it." Hermione continued to watch Draco. She'd known the quilt of the night still ate at him, but she hadn't understood just how much so. "You're my friend. And I protect my friends."

Draco only nodded again, the smallest shine of a tear forming at the corner of his eyes. He coughed in that moment, brushing the tear away. "So…" he spoke slowly, the pain falling from his voice and eyes, "what do you want to do after Hogwarts then?"

"I'm not really sure." Hermione said, pleased to see the storm of his eyes settling slowly. "For so many years I wanted to work with the Ministry in improving creatures rights, but over the years, seeing how messed up the system can be, I'm not so sure. I don't want to spend my whole life sitting there, watching all my work getting lost. I might eventually try to do some work on it, but I think the Ministry needs to work on getting itself fixed before anything else. I don't know. I'll figure it out sooner or later."

"Is this Hermione Granger without a plan?" Draco's eyebrow rose expertly.

"Shut up." She poked him, but smiled none the less. "Gosh, you are frustrating."

"Part of the charm."

"Whatever." Hermione rolled her eyes; it seemed she did this more and more often when he was around. "I'll figure it out. I have more important things at the moment."

"You mean a war?"

"No, the after party." Hermione smiled brightly, a giggle to her voice. "The twins have been passing out fliers; I don't know when they managed to find the time to make them. But there's going to be a party at the Burrow that Saturday after we win. They told me to let you know and that you're expected to attend."

"Remind me to make other plans for that day."

"Come on, it'll be tons of fun."

"A house full of Weasleys? I'll pass."

"Don't be so stuck up." Hermione frowned. "Besides, the Weasleys love you, and you know you love them too."

"How the mighty have fallen."

Hermione was about to smack him, had she not seen the full blown smile on his lips. She very rarely got to see him smile so brightly; he usually graced them with smirks and grins. But this was a full blown smile. She couldn't help but return the favor, shaking her head at his antics. "You'll be there right? Mrs. Weasley would hate for you to miss."

"If I survive all this," Draco stated, "I guess I can survive a Weasley party. But I let you know, if red starts showing in my hair, I'm gone. I would make an ugly ginger."

"I'm sure you'll look fine." Hermione laughed.

"You know Granger," the tone in Draco's voice was a clear indication that he was changing the subject, "when all this is over, you and I are definitely going to have to play the piano together again."

"We've got a few days stuck here." Hermione responded, walking her fingers over the keys.

"I know." Draco nodded. "But I'm talking about afterwards."

"Alright." Hermione picked up on his meaning, and smiled. "Is that a date?"

"No." Draco answered, from his tone in his voice it was clear he was speaking a lie. "You and me? A date? Please. I'm way too smart for you."

"I think you have that backwards." Hermione leaned towards him. She pressed her fingers into the piano keys in front of him, sending a deep rumble through the room. "I am the Brightest Witch of My Age after all. And what are you?"

"Hottest bachelor of the year?" Draco shrugged. His eyes were serious as could be, but the smile on his face was less so. He was leaning towards her. While several inches separated their faces, their fingers were intertwined over the piano keys. "Although, I might be willing to give up that title."

"Oh really." Hermione blinked at him as the smile spread further over his lips. "And what would make you do such a thing."

"I don't know. I kind of like the ring to Hottest Boyfriend."

Hermione understood what he was proposing, but she wasn't going to give in first. She was going to make him say those words. "And where are you going to get a girlfriend?"

Draco frowned at her. "Are you really going to make me ask it?" She nodded vigorously, earning a combination of a snort and chuckle from him. "Make me do all the work. If we survive this war Hermione," she smiled when he said her name, "do you want to go out some time?"

"We will survive." Hermione muttered, leaning forward. "But why wait until then?"

The shift she made towards him put enough pressure on her hand to weight down the keys that it had been resting on. A grating noise filled the room as she touched her lips ever so slightly against his. Neither of them paid any mind to the horrid sound coming from the piano as his lips enveloped hers in response.

The piano grew silent long before the two of them broken apart.

-oOo-  
>-oOo-<br>-oOo-

So many words. There it is though. Clocking in at 10,600 something words (without both Author's Notes) and a week of work. This was really fun to do, although trying to piece together every challenge to fit something was a big of a struggle.

A side note is that I really have the musical inspirations to thank for this piece. _Chandelier_ by Sai, _Rolling in the Deep_ by Adele and_ No Saving Me_ by Framing Henley were the pivots of this outrageous piece; both in lyrics and the instrumental versions. About 94% of this was inspired by this set of songs, so I have to thank them greatly. Don't ask me though how I put those three songs together (three entirely different songs) and got this in the end because I don't know. It just kind of happened and I fear I may have devolved carpel tunnel from all this typing.

I really enjoyed writing this, hopefully about as much as you all enjoyed reading it. Don't forget to leave a review. You read though my words, I want to read some of yours. So any questions, comments, concerns, please jot them down for me to know.


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